


Parched

by DameRuth



Series: Bliss [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Multi, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: When an alien world actuallyneedsto be hit by a few comets, it's Nine, Rose, and Jack to the rescue.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler
Series: Bliss [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14078
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my Teaspoon imports - and I found, to my surprise, that this story had never originally made it into the "Bliss" series, even though my brain had long since filed it there, and even planned a few future Bliss stories (still in my brain, alas) that referenced it. I'm correcting the oversight here on AO3, and putting it where it belongs in the series' internal chronology. 
> 
> Originally posted 2007.05.31. Still a personal favorite, even after all these years.
> 
> Original Author's Notes: Nine, Rose, and Jack make a really appealing trio of characters -- and, now I'm feeling more comfortable with Nine, I really wanted to try working with them in a "team" context. The initial plot bunny hopped out of my mental undergrowth after a conversation with my mom about terraformation (doesn't everyone talk to their mom about that?), and would not be denied. Nods to Asimov's "The Martian Way" and Kim Stanley Robinson's _Red Mars_ for the idea(s) that formed the opening sequence, though any dodgy science (especially the made-up stuff) is my fault and not theirs.

"Control!' Jack bellowed, his voice shaking with the vibration that threatened to rattle them around the TARDIS like dice in a cup. "You'd better have those lenses in place, 'cause we're comin' in like a bat outta Hell, and we're past the point of no return."  
  
"Affirmative. Lenses in place and active . . ." came the voice of the Project Commander over the communicator. She sounded remarkably calm for someone who had several million tons of cometary ice headed in her direction at breakneck speed.  
  
Next to Jack, the Doctor was pounding away at the TARDIS controls like they were some bizarre musical instrument, keeping up a steady monologue of encouragement to his ship in a nonsensical blend of English and some other language. When that failed, he deployed his rubber mallet like there was no tomorrow. Which there wouldn't be, if they slipped up . . .  
  
Jack was manning the tractor beam that held six large cometary nuclei strung out behind them like ducks in a row as the TARDIS came arrowing in from this solar system's Oort Cloud. It was taking nearly all his attention to juggle six different masses with the absolute precision necessary for what they were about to attempt.  
  
"Rose!" he yelled, "How's our alignment looking?"  
  
Rose was clinging to the control panel with grim determination, her attention focused unwaveringly on the readouts in front of her. She might not have the technical knowledge to pilot a timeship, but she was more than capable of watching a set of crosshairs on a screen — a vital task, at this point.  
  
"We're good!" she yelled back, sounding nearly as calm as the Commander, even though she had to yell at the top of her lungs to be heard over the deafening rattling and buzzing that filled the control room. "All three of 'em, on target!"  
  
One breath, two -- there!  
  
Jack flipped a series of switches, as the Doctor managed, somehow, to swing the TARDIS through a smooth parabolic arc, beginning to describe an equatorial orbit around the target planet.  
  
"First set, away!" Two cometary nuclei were released from the queue, momentum and gravity beginning to carry them into a curving trajectory that should impact the first heat lens.  
  
A moment later, "Second set!" Two more nuclei set free. Now the vibration in the control room was easing up, as the TARDIS had less external mass to manage, and as her own trajectory settled into a stable orbit. "Third set! Control, first impact T-minus ninety seconds! Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen . . ."  
  
The control room was suddenly still as stone and deathly silent, except for the usual background hum of the TARDIS talking to herself.  
  
Jack, Rose, and the Doctor bolted simultaneously for the viewscreen.  
  
The planet below them was shown in both a real-time direct image of exquisite realism, and a diagrammatic version composed entirely of vector lines. The vector version showed the incoming cometary nuclei as numbered blips spiralling towards their designated impact points at the planet’s equator. The real-time image showed no sign of anything, the planet turning in silent, blissful unawareness. Light from the system’s primary sparkled off of the few “seas” — little better than oversized lakes painstakingly built up over the long process of terraformation.  
  
They did not speak to one another — they were completely focused on the viewscreen. Nothing to do now but watch, in that dizzying free-fall moment between committing an act and the arrival of consequences.  
  
Rose stood with her hands clasped together under her chin, knuckles white. Jack gripped the edge of the console, whispering a single repeated mantra, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon . . .” to whatever Powers might choose to listen. The Doctor, standing behind them, glared silently at the viewscreen, as if he might influence trajectories with the sheer force of his will. He had one hand on Rose’s shoulder, and one on Jack’s, and none of them realized he was gripping tightly enough to leave bruises they’d find the next day.  
  
The first set of nuclei reached the planet’s disc in the vector representation, and became lost to view. An instant later, there was a hair-thin line of fire visible in the real-time image . . . and then the flare of impact. The bottom of the screen lit with a scrolling analysis of the impact, but nobody needed to look at it, because a dazzling white flower of water vapor bloomed at the point where the comet had impacted the lens — a forcefield construct in the planet’s upper atmosphere — and began scrolling outward in exuberant streaks and whorls: instant clouds for the water-starved world.  
  
The TARDIS control room erupted with gleeful noise. Rose whooped in wordless delight, while Jack yelled, “Yeah! _Right_ down the middle!” as he punched the air, and the Doctor drowned them both out with a joyous shout of, “Fan-bleedin’- _tastic_!”  
  
The second and third impacts hit their respective lenses -- spaced out around the equator for maximum moisture spread -- with equal precision and the victorious TARDIS crew allowed themselves the momentary luxury of a tight three way hug, all of them laughing maniacally with relief.  
  
The Doctor broke them apart with a gruff, “Right! Not done _yet_ ,” as he moved back in the direction of the controls, but he was grinning the widest of all.  
  
\--  
  
The TARDIS materialized in the main control facility of the terraforming project — and the three of them stepped out into a jubilant, if harried, scene . . . and a brief but heartfelt heroes’ welcome.  
  
The TARDIS had first arrived here just under one planetary day ago, responding to a faint distress signal. They’d found a colony hanging onto existence by its fingernails. A long train of accidents, natural disasters, and plain bad luck had brought terraforming of the colony world to a screeching halt, at one of the most critical junctures possible.  
  
All of the three in-system ships had been damaged or disabled in one way or another, rendering them unable to collect the cometary ice needed to keep the planet’s moisture levels rising quickly enough. The latest influx of new water had been delayed far too long, shifting the already desert-dry world into drought conditions, and threatening the fragile ecosystem that had been painstakingly built up over decades.  
  
If the drought continued, land-based life would be decimated, to the point where maintenance of an oxygen atmosphere might very well be jeopardized — and once the air turned back over to a carbon dioxide and methane blend, there wouldn’t be enough resources to shift it again. The terraforming would fail completely.  
  
At that point, the colony was doomed in more than just theoretical terms — they weren’t equipped for long-term survival in a non-terraformed environment, and were so far out on the edges of galactic civilization the chances of rescue arriving in time were slim to none . . . assuming anyone heard their desperate cries at all. The starships that had carried the people to this system had long since been dismantled and cannibalized in the process of building bases and living quarters.  
  
The colonists who had chosen to find a new home and a new life here had literally bet everything they had on the terraformation process.  
  
Everything balanced on water, preferably in cometary form, since the lenses (powered by solar energy — one of the few things the world had in abundance) were already in place, and would allow for a direct conversion of ice into atmospheric water vapor.  
  
By the time the TARDIS arrived, the colony was in despair. Even if they could complete the repair work on one of the in-system ships at that point (and they were frustratingly close), the turnaround time for a trip to the Oort cloud and back would be too long — there was no way one of their ships could make the journey quickly enough.  
  
But the TARDIS could.  
  
The Doctor spent several hours locked up in an office with the chief terraforming engineers, and came back out with a data disk, a mad gleam in his eyes, and a plan that might just save everyone if it didn’t kill them first.  
  
\--  
  
Since everyone was going to live, there was no time to lose. The first of the in-system ships was within hours of being repaired completely enough to take off — and it would _have_ to leave that quickly, to ensure the next delivery of cometary water arrived on time to keep things going.  
  
The ship was in drydock on the surface at the main control facility, and everyone who wasn’t involved directly in terraformation planning was hustling to get the ship ready for its launch window, twelve hours away.  
  
The amount of work was staggering, so naturally Rose and Jack offered to pitch in, while the Doctor vanished for an endgame analysis of the current cometary strikes with the other terraforming geniuses.  
  
Originally, Jack had figured he could offer a set of semi-skilled mechanic’s hands wherever necessary, but his job turned out to be much simpler than that, for the most part. The colonists were Odevrak, a race of small, slender humanoids; the largest of them stood about as tall as Rose’s shoulder and had maybe three quarters of her body mass. Given his impressive size and musculature, Jack quickly found himself recruited as beast of burden and all-around strongman, horsing heavy parts and fixtures around in a way that would have taken three colonists nearly twice as long.  
  
Jack didn’t mind — it let him show off his human prowess to the admiring ladies (and gentlemen) of the colony. While he might be playing the part of mindless muscle, he still knew enough about what was going on to offer useful advice, and make sure everything he moved was going into position _properly_.  
  
And . . . it felt genuinely good to be useful, in any capacity, he realized.  
  
Rose’s muscles, to her giggling surprise, were in almost as much demand as Jack’s, since she was far taller and stronger than even the largest colonist. She could also run faster, with her long, loping human stride, and so she fetched, hefted, carried, and ran messages as needed. All the while, she kept up a steady stream of positive comments and cheerful encouragement, which Jack couldn’t help but admire. She made everything seem so much brighter and more manageable, somehow, with her sunny attitude.  
  
At some point, the Doctor finished whatever scientific brainwork needed doing, and joined Jack in the lifting-and-carrying department, easily shifting equipment and segments of hull paneling that even Jack couldn’t have handled alone. Jack watched with covert fascination, when he had the free time — he’d gown up with legends about the distant and fearsome Time Lords (never seen anymore in the modern days of the fifty-first century, Time Lords were rapidly becoming as mythical as unicorns), and it seemed the stories of exceptional physical strength were true enough.  
  
He wondered what other bits of the legends were true. Given how disquieting some of them were, maybe he didn’t want to know . . .  
  
Hours and hours along, Jack began to find himself dulling, moving more slowly and beginning to stumble. A glance at his wrist chrono told him he hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours.  
  
He glanced back up, blearily. The frantic pace of work was slowing now, down to the finishing touches. Jack realized he hadn’t seen Rose in quite a while.  
  
Taking a break (he was not currently in demand), he asked around, and was directed towards a storeroom. He found Rose there, curled up on a pile of padded mats used for storing and transporting delicate pieces of equipment. The light was dim, and the room was quiet and out-of-the-way.  
  
Her back was to the door, and she was so still he was worried at first. He went over to her, and knelt on the edge of the mats so he could look at her face. She didn’t so much as twitch as his weight hit the mats. She looked easily five years younger than she really was; it was amazing, how small she seemed when she slept.  
  
Jack smoothed a wisp of hair away from her face, tucking it back behind her ear, and she didn’t even react to his direct touch. Her breathing was easy and regular, but she was out cold — in the sleep of complete exhaustion.  
  
Jack grimaced, He understood how she felt. Even stopping long enough to kneel on the mat made him realize how tired and sore he was. His feet hurt, his back hurt, his shoulders hurt . . .  
  
Shifting his weight, he turned so he was sitting on the outer edge of the pile of mats, between Rose and the door. It felt very good to sit and be still. _Too_ good, he knew. If he stayed like this much longer, he’d pass out, too. But he could stay awake for another minute or two while he sat here, just to take some of the weight off of his feet. . .  
  
\--  
  
The Doctor went looking for both of his companions shortly after that. He was given amused directions to the storeroom by several of the colonists (who also couldn’t thank him enough, it seemed, to the point where it was gettin’ embarrassing), and when he peeked in the door, the first thing he saw was Jack, sacked out on the pile of mats. His legs were hanging off the edge, as if he’d been sitting, facing the doorway, and fallen over on his side from that position — which, the Doctor reflected, was probably a reasonable hypothesis.  
  
As he walked closer, he could see Rose, lying asleep behind Jack.  
  
Once upon a time, finding Rose and Jack asleep together would have set him into a snarling, jealous rage — might even have made him seriously consider giving the Captain that threatened tour of an airlock — but by now, he trusted the former conman . . . and there were certainly extenuating circumstances, this time out. Both humans were fully clothed, and clearly had been too tired to do anything but fall over and sleep where they landed.  
  
He couldn’t blame them. Even for a Time Lord, it had been a very, very tiring sequence of events.  
  
He bent over, caught Jack’s ankles, and lifted them up onto the matting so he was lying with his spine and pelvis properly aligned, then straightened slowly, pulling a wry face at the way his back complained at him. Might be time to take a bit of a break. This storeroom was quiet enough . . .  
  
There were a couple of folding chairs, but they were Odevraki-sized, and would have been ridiculous for his long frame. Instead, he found a sturdy-looking packing crate and pushed it over to the wall, next to the pile of mats. He settled onto the crate, rather stiffly, and leaned back against the wall.  
  
Oh, much better. He rolled his head to one side, to consider his oblivious companions. They’d worked hard, and he was proud of them — both of them, not just Rose. The gamble of taking on the Captain was proving to be well-considered after all. Definitely better than that weedy little git, Adam.  
  
The Doctor snorted in acerbic amusement at that memory, then smiled at his sleeping friends. Their regular breathing was soothing, like the sound of the sea against the shore.  
  
Yes, sitting down for a moment was just what he needed. A few more minutes, and he’d be ready to get back to work, if there was anything more that needed doing . . .  
  
Shortly afterwards, one of the Odevraki engineering team went in search of the three aliens; the ship was ready for launch a full two hours early, in no small part thanks to their help. The engineer followed much the same directions that the Doctor had been given, and soon found the storeroom — filled with the peaceful breathing of three large, sleeping forms, two laid out on a pile of mats, one seated on a packing crate against the wall.  
  
The engineer grinned to himself, the solid white line of his upper dental ridge gleaming in the darkness. Then he carefully tiptoed away. He’d been intending to thank the visitors and ask if they needed any rest or refreshment, but they appeared to be taking care of themselves just fine without his help. He’d spread the word to leave the storeroom undisturbed, so their benefactors could sleep themselves out as they deserved.  
  
The three exhausted members of the TARDIS crew even managed to sleep through the not-so-subtle vibration and roar of a successful ship’s launch, and the cheering that echoed down the hallway immediately afterwards.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is turning out longer than I expected, once it's making its way to the page -- so, it'll be three chapters instead of two.

Rose woke up with a sense of profound disorientation. She opened her eyes to the sight of an unenlightening blank wall, dimly lit, and a solid, breathing warmth pressed against her back. The air was cool, so she was glad of the warmth, but she was disturbed she didn’t know who was providing it. _Mickey . . . ?_ No, the breathing was wrong.  
  
In fact, she could hear someone else breathing now — snoring a little, in fact — though they sounded further away. She pressed one hand down flat on the soft surface she rested on, preparing to push herself up, and for some reason it was the textured surface of the mat that brought her memories flooding back.  
  
The distress call, the white-knuckle ride dragging comets in, the long push to finish prepping the colonists’ ship . . . She’d held out as long as she could, but finally, she’d had to ask if there was somewhere, anywhere, she could rest a bit, and the last thing she remembered was being shown the pile of mats. She didn’t even remember lying down, though clearly she must have.  
  
She had a better idea now who was probably lying next to her, but to confirm it, she slowly and carefully levered herself up enough so she could twist her upper body around to look. Her movement touched off a sleepy _grumph!_ that told her she was indeed sharing the mats with Jack even before she looked.  
  
Even though she’d been expecting it, she was still slightly surprised to find that the snorer was the Doctor, sitting on a crate and leaning against the wall, legs straight out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest. Rose could count the number of times she’d seen him sleep on the fingers of one hand, with digits left over. It made her feel a little better about having needed to rest — anything that could tire the Doctor was enough to exhaust lesser mortals.  
  
In fact, remembering how much there had been to do, Rose wondered if she should get up and go see if she could be of any further use . . . unwillingly, she yawned right in the middle of the thought. She was still tired, and gravity was insistently urging her to slip back down onto the nice, soft, mats again, for just a little longer . . .  
  
Listening past the sound of Jack’s breathing and the Doctor’s snoring, Rose couldn’t hear any sounds of activity outside the storeroom. That, and the presence of both Jack and the Doctor, told her that there probably wasn’t anything vitally important going on at the moment . . . and if anything did start up, they’d all be here together to face it as necessary. She wouldn’t miss anything.  
  
Rose settled back onto the mat and snuggled up against Jack so they were resting back-to-back again, the solidity of him friendly and reassuring. He sighed, without waking, and snuggled back, seeking her restored warmth. She listened to her friends’ breathing for a moment, feeling safe and relaxed, before she dropped off to sleep once more.  
  
\--  
  
Her next waking wasn’t as peaceful.  
  
It began with a strangled shout that jerked her awake a bare millisecond before Jack’s weight and warmth vanished from behind her. Her own body was moving before she’d even fully broken through to consciousness, and she sat up and flipped around to face the source of the noise.  
  
The Doctor stood rigidly straight in the center of the room, hands balled tightly into fists at his side. Jack, looking dazed and a little frantic, was on his feet in a defensive stance to one side, facing the Doctor, who had apparently been the source of the shout.  
  
Everyone held their positions for a disoriented moment before Jack broke the tableau, straightening out of his half-crouched position and running a hand through his hair while he yawned.  
  
“Well, _I’m_ awake now,” he observed dryly to the room at large.  
  
“Doctor . . .?” Rose began uncertainly.  
  
The Doctor glanced at her over his shoulder, and his face was grim, his brows drawn down and his eyes shadowed in the dim light. He didn’t look angry, _per se_ but he was daunting.  
  
Rose made herself finish. “ . . . are you all right?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, in a grating tone that would seem to indicate otherwise. “Just a dream.”  
  
Rose shot a glance at Jack, who was looking at the Doctor with a considering expression.  
  
“Some dream,” Rose commented, still too sleep-dazed to be tactful. “What time is it?”  
  
“Late,” the Doctor said, sharp and short. Without another word, he turned away and strode out of the room, his movements tight and forceful.  
  
Rose looked at Jack again. He was watching the Doctor’s exit, but he turned back to Rose and gave her a wry half-grin.  
  
“Good morning, Rose,” he said, with exaggerated formality, in contrast to the Doctor’s abruptness, “did you sleep well?”  
  
Rose’s lips quirked appreciatively. “Very well, Captain Harkness -- _is_ it morning?”  
  
“Yeah. Just about breakfast time, locally, in fact. Care to see what’s cooking, if anything?” He offered her a polite hand up, which she took, and they followed the Doctor out of the storeroom.  
  
\--  
  
They caught up with him at the entrance to the colony’s control and command center, where all three of them were instantly greeted with a round of welcoming applause. The Project Commander herself — looking bone-tired, but smiling all the same — came up to clasp the Doctor’s hand, sparing a smile for Rose and Jack at the same time.  
  
“We did it, thanks to your help,” she told them gratefully, “The ship launched four hours ago. And, even better, it started raining two hours ago.”  
  
“Well, that’s what comets are good for,” the Doctor said, cheerfully enough. If Rose hadn’t known him better, his chipper attitude might have fooled her, too. “All that dust trapped in the ice — forms its own ready-made condensation nuclei once it goes to vapor. Y' get rain almost right away . . .”  
  
Keeping up a rapid-fire conversation about terraforming minutiae with the Doctor, the Commander led them to the external hatch, which swung open to reveal a large, partially covered paved courtyard. Out past the covered area, the pavement glistened with water, and the air was cool and fragrant with rain.  
  
The Commander led them to the edge of the sheltering roof. Beyond the paved area, the rocky ground was already greening, as lichens and spikemosses specially engineered to capture and hold water began to plump up and resume photosynthesis.  
  
“That’s our guarantee of a breathable atmosphere, right there,” the Commander said, proudly. “Every bit of oxygen that green biomass generates will help stabilize things.”  
  
“Not to mention all the carbon dioxide it’ll trap,” Jack added, earning him sideling glances from the Doctor, the Commander and Rose.  
  
“What?” Jack responded, rolling his eyes. “I’ve taken Terraforming 101. Shouldn’t be _that_ big a surprise.” He shook his head in feigned despair.  
  
Out on the pavement, in the rain, was an array glasses and containers from the Colony galley, collecting water. The Commander stepped out in the rain, and carefully poured water form container to container until she had three half-full drinking glasses, which she brought back to the TARDIS crew.  
  
“Here,” she said proudly. “Enjoy the results of your work. We all have been.”  
  
They drank, the water cool and fresh, nothing like the heavily filtered and chlorinated reclaimed water the colony had been living on for weeks now.  
  
(Nobody knew it at the time, but that was the start of a tradition which would last for centuries on this world, in which a glass of clear water — preferably rainwater — was the ritual refreshment offered first to an honored guest.)  
  
They reentered the command center to find plans already underway for a celebration party. The Doctor began to squelch the invitations that were immediately directed towards himself and his companions . . . until he found himself confronted by two pairs of pleading eyes, and faltered.  
  
He wanted nothing more to be gone and away from this place, but in the face of united opposition from Rose and Jack, he found himself unable to insist and caved instead — not terribly gracefully, but neither Rose nor Jack seemed to mind.  
  
Everything was set up with surprising speed, promise of a good time giving everyone — except possibly the Doctor -- extra energy. From a general party, the proceedings morphed into a version of the traditional Odevraki spring festival; it was entirely the wrong time of year, by planetary standards, but nobody seemed inclined to care about that detail.  
  
The Spring Festival was marked by eating, drinking, and simple line and circle dances. Music was no problem — recordings and the means to play them were readily available in the colony’s equipment. Food and drink were somewhat more problematic, since the colony existed on tight rations as it was — but with a little scrimping and the raiding of private stashes, a respectable array of dainties was assembled. Rose and Jack put their heads together and nearly cleaned out the TARDIS’s stores for their contribution.  
  
“Oi!” the Doctor yelled in consternation from where he leaned against a wall, watching the preparations, “We need to keep _some_ of that.” It was the third trip Rose and Jack had made from the TARDIS, parked at one side of the courtyard, to the buffet tables.  
  
“We’ll never miss it,” Jack called back, ever the optimist.  
  
“And we needed to go shopping anyway — we’re almost out of milk,” Rose added, with feminine pragmatism.  
  
The Doctor shook his head, and left them to it. If they were down to bread crusts for dinner tomorrow, he wasn’t going to have any sympathy, that was certain.  
  
Shortly afterwards, the dancing began. In celebration of the “season,” the dancing took place in the rain — the temperature being mild enough for the dampness to be pleasant, rather than chilling.  
  
At the beginning, Rose tried to draw the Doctor out into a dance, but he resisted, while Jack watched with amusement.  
  
“I thought you liked dancing,” Rose told him, with a decidedly flirtatious smile, teasing him.  
  
“Not in the rain,” the Doctor replied, with the best grace he could muster. “Bad for leather.”  
  
“Only thing that’s leather is your coat, which comes off — I think,” Jack pointed out. Then he cocked his head consideringly, a glint in his eye. “Though I’m starting to think you might have a bit layered between your ears . . .”  
  
“Enough,” the Doctor rumbled in a tone that cut Jack off nicely. Since Rose was there, he attempted a smile. “You two dance, I’m not much in the mood.”  
  
“C’mon, Rose,” Jack said, getting the hint. He caught Rose’s hand, and towed her away. She went willingly enough, but kept glancing over her shoulder at the Doctor. The dances were simple enough that both of them were soon dancing away as well as anyone else there. The Doctor did his best to watch in an anthropological state of mind. It was a distraction, anyway.  
  
A hint of ancient Spring fertility rituals, much tamed-down and domesticated, survived in the form of a tradition where individuals attempted to surprise and “capture” members of the opposite sex — captured individuals had to respond by either giving their captors a kiss, or partnering them in the next dance. There was a certain amusement to be had in watching how carefully certain “victims” managed to maneuver themselves to ensure they would be “surprised” by favored individuals who were creeping up on them . . .  
  
The Doctor kept his back firmly planted against the wall, where he leaned and watched. He earned a few covert glances, but since it was hardly possible for his body language to convey a more blatant “keep away” attitude, nobody attempted to capture him.  
  
Once the first dance was over, Rose and Jack were quickly captured and dragged off to dance by members of the colony. Both of them politely mixed with their hosts, but the Doctor noticed they spent rather a lot of time capturing each other and dancing together. That observation didn’t necessarily improve his mood.  
  
Yes, the two of them were friends — no doubt of that. And yes, under other circumstances he would have quite enjoyed the sight they made together, really — both young and handsome (clever and good-hearted, too, an even more appealing combination), laughing in each others’ company, moving with the unconscious ease and grace shared between two members of the same species . . .  
  
They made a lovely couple.  
  
That was the problem.  
  
Soon enough, there’d be little need for _him_ , and no surprises there.  
  
The Doctor’s mood shaded darker, his expression set and grim as he watched Jack sneak up on Rose and startle her by tickling her sides, making her jump and yell in genuine surprise. She danced with him tamely enough, but retaliated afterwards by launching a flying tackle at Jack from behind, nearly taking the startled Captain to the ground.  
  
At the end of the dance, Rose pulled Jack aside, and he put his head down to converse intently about something with her.  
  
Then the two of them slipped off out of sight together, around a corner of the building.  
  
The Doctor’s hearts congealed in his chest, his mood going finally, utterly, pitch black as he pretended to himself that he had not seen what had just happened, or that it didn’t mean what he suspected.  
  
Ten minutes, and they still hadn’t reappeared.  
  
Almost against his will, the Doctor shifted forward, and took a few steps away from the wall, craning his neck to search for his missing companions. Where _had_ they gone . . .?  
  
A hand landed firmly on his shoulder, from behind.  
  
The Doctor almost responded instantaneously, violently, and inappropriately, his taut nerves and dark mood calling up reflexes from times past. But he managed to control himself, even as he registered Jack’s voice behind him.  
  
“Gotcha!” Jack said. “I thought you were never gonna detach yourself from that wall.”  
  
The Doctor jerked around to see Jack grinning at him, with Rose a few steps back, covering her mouth with one hand while her eyes twinkled with delight.  
  
“Toldja’, Rose,” Jack continued. “I used to be able to sneak up on anyone, and I’ve still got it.” He winked at the Doctor. “C’mon, Doc, pay up — it’s a kiss or a dance.”  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My own account of what happened at Arcadia, obviously -- and I may be Russelled at any moment . . . A goodly portion of this chapter comes from having a combat veteran as a close friend, and seeing up close how that sort of past can affect someone.

A great many possible responses spun through the Doctor’s head — none of them quite appropriate. He was aware that his expression had clamped down to blankness, saw Jack’s grin begin to slip, saw Rose drop her hand from her mouth, looking worried . . . and still the words wouldn’t come.  
  
Finally: “That only works for members of the _opposite_ sex. Fertility ritual.”  
  
Not perfect, but something. Sounded a little blunt though. Better add something else.  
  
“I said I wasn’t in the mood to dance — you two go ahead. And it’s _Doctor_ not ‘Doc.’” That sounded almost normal, good.  
  
Rose frowned.  
  
“We’ve _been_ dancing together,” she began, but Jack turned and pulled her aside, arm around her shoulders, speaking quietly and intently in her ear.  
  
The Doctor retreated and rested against the reassuring solidity of the wall again. He’d developed a dislike for leaving his back exposed towards the end of his last life. Being surprised from behind was not a Good Thing. Rose and Jack were lucky he hadn’t given them more of a show than being momentarily speechless.  
  
Rose appeared to be disagreeing with Jack, but he shushed her. Eventually, he turned her physically towards the main body of the party, and gave her a slight shove. She shot him an annoyed look, but went — sparing a more concerned glance for the Doctor as she went.  
  
The Doctor saw, from the corner of his eye, but didn’t respond.  
  
It was harder to ignore Jack, who walked over and leaned against the wall next to the Doctor, their shoulders about a foot apart. Jack ran a hand through his wet, dark hair, smoothing it back off his forehead, then adopted a mirror of the Doctor’s pose, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
After a moment, he broke the silence with characteristic bluntness.  
  
“Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to dance,” he said, in the tones of reasonable exasperation.  
  
“How d’you know?” the Doctor countered, gazing out across the courtyard. “Maybe I melt in the rain.”  
  
Jack sighed, and tried another angle.  
  
“Rose was hoping you’d dance with her at least once.”  
  
“Y’ can leave her out of this, thanks.”  
  
“What? It’s the truth,” Jack told him, with what sounded like an edge of genuine anger at the implication he was using Rose as leverage.  
  
A pause. Then: “I don’t get it. Here we are, we’ve done a good thing, we’ve saved a colony, and for once they’re _grateful_ , they want to dance with us, not run us out of town on a rail. Trust me — in my line of work, you learn to appreciate any ending that isn’t a lynch mob. A party’s a real treat.”  
  
The Doctor couldn’t help snorting at that, but he still didn’t turn his head to look at Jack.  
  
“I remember you after the Blitz — ‘Everybody lives,’ and all that. You couldn’t wait to dance then. What’s different now? Everyone’s alive this time, too — better than that, their whole planet’ll live, too.”  
  
The Doctor’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. That was a little too close to the core of the matter for his comfort.  
  
Another pause. “Thought so. You’ve done that for real, haven’t you?”  
  
“Done what?” the Doctor asked, almost against his will.  
  
“A targeted cometary strike. A _military_ strike.” Jack’s voice was calm but certain.  
  
“Cometary strikes are against every known treaty,” the Doctor told him, which wasn’t an answer.  
  
Jack snorted, a bitter sound. “Like that matters when push comes to shove? Might not be nice, might not be legal, but everyone knows how it works. Snag a couple of comets out in the Oort Cloud -- or even a couple of nice big rocks, in a pinch -- run ‘em insystem, and pitch ‘em at your population centers. Do it fast enough and quiet enough, and they won’t even know what’s coming . . .”  
  
The Doctor remained still and silent, breathing slowed almost enough for his respiratory bypass systems to kick in.  
  
“You had all the calculations ready in the TARDIS’s navcomp memory,” Jack continued, softly, inexorably. “I saw the equations over your shoulder when you first called them up. Those parameters weren’t meant for terraforming. You had to change them for this run.”  
  
He fell silent again, and the Doctor’s eyes closed. The last air in his lungs hissed out between his teeth as he went into respiratory bypass, his diaphragm frozen in place as, unwillingly, he remembered . . .  
  
_Arcadia — the pride of the Time Lords, the fortress world that stood between Gallifrey and her enemies. Undefeated, and undefeatable — until the Daleks came, and came in force.  
  
If the Daleks had called the Doctor, a single renegade Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm and the Destroyer of Worlds, they learned soon enough what it meant to face the united force of his entire species. The Time Lords and all their kin — the Shobogons, the ordinary Gallifreyans, every individual who claimed Gallifrey as Homeworld — fought with utter conviction and icy ferocity.  
  
Daleks died by the millions — but there were always more of them, it seemed, unending waves. The people of Gallifrey, ever slow to reproduce and formerly feeling little pressure to do so given their long lives, were limited and outnumbered. Slowly, their ranks eroded away, as a river in flood erodes the soil of its banks.  
  
Eventually, the river burst free, and swept over Arcadia — and Arcadia fell.  
  
Probability shivered, shattered, and recrystallized into new patterns.  
  
In his eighth life, he’d been far more sensitive to Time’s paths than ever before or since. At Arcadia it was a cruel gift indeed, because he saw what was to come with terrible clarity. For the first time, the great, branching tree of Time showed loss and defeat down every turning point of possibility. This was no longer a war to be won — this was a final stand, a last battle to save the Universe.  
  
He was one of a bare handful of Arcadia’s survivors — not by design, but rather by sheerest chance. Others had fallen at his side, facing the same dangers in the terrible carnage of the last ground battles, but he had somehow come through unscathed.  
  
Well, mostly. He had to wipe blood off the TARDIS's controls several times in the process of laying in the necessary protocols and equations. He ignored the bright red spatters as anything but what they were — a distraction from the task at hand as he and his fellow soldiers prepared to make the Daleks’ latest victory as bitter as possible.  
  
There were facilities, factories, and vital information still left on Arcdia’s scarred surface. The Daleks were settling down on the planet like flies on a corpse, seeking whatever they could scavenge. They were confident in their perfect superiority, their (to their narrow minds) pre-ordained victory, and were therefore nowhere near as wary as they should have been.  
  
Without warning, the TARDIS and her sister-ships came blazing insystem, each trailing as many missiles as possible. In perfect unison, they flung them in wide, sweeping arcs aimed across the planet’s surface — particularly targeting the remnants of cities and military bases.  
  
The Daleks saw it coming, but could not react in time to stop so many objects, traveling so quickly. The comets hit Arcadia like a literal hailstorm of retribution, completing the destruction of that once beautiful world. Thousands of ships and millions of Daleks perished as Arcadia served her masters one last time, a trap for the enemy.  
  
If it had been possible to do so from orbit, the Doctor would have sown that beloved ground with salt, just to finish the job properly.  
  
The battle over, the Doctor and his fellow soldiers left for Gallifrey, to bring the hearts-breaking news, and to muster their species for their last great defense of Time. . ._  
  
That had been the Doctor’s dream, the one that wrenched him from sleep with enough violence to wake his human companions: the memory of that dreadful day, replayed with perfect, crystalline clarity, the present Doctor unable to do anything more than watch as events unfolded, knowing the outcome . . .  
  
“Doc?” Jack’s voice, hesitant now. “Doctor? You’re not breathing . . .”  
  
The Doctor opened his eyes, almost surprised to see the rain-dampened courtyard again after re-witnessing the death of Arcadia. He hadn’t let a waking memory take him so completely in decades. He was getting old, no doubt of it.  
  
Almost as an afterthought, he inhaled for the first time in several minutes, and heard Jack’s relieved sigh.  
  
“I thought I recognized the look,” Jack continued. “Worn it myself, now and then. I’ve done plenty of things I’d rather forget, and that’s just the stuff I _remember_.”  
  
Like the Doctor, Jack was looking out over the courtyard as he spoke, neither of them attempting to make eye contact, but the Doctor could still see Jack’s wry half-smile in his peripheral vision.  
  
“That’s why _I_ tapped you on the shoulder, by the way. Figured I’d have a better reaction time than Rose, if you took it the wrong way.” A trickle of water was making its way down Jack's forehead from his hairline, and he reached up to wipe it away.  
  
“Sometimes,” he continued, “with all the garbage life hands out, all you can do is either laugh or scream. I pick laughing every time — seems more constructive.” Another pause. “Rose and I . . . well, it’s hard to watch you stand off to the side and scream.”  
  
“Wasn’t aware I was makin’ any noise,” the Doctor told him, dryly, an unintended response; he’d been planning to simply clam up until Jack left him alone.  
  
A snort from Jack. “It doesn’t have to be out loud, and you know it,” he said, his tone dry and certain.  
  
Silence.  
  
Jack inhaled deeply, and then exhaled.  
  
" _'Light out of darkness, hope out of despair, life out of death, until the End . . ..'_ ” he quoted, unexpectedly. “That's what they taught us when we were kids. I was never much of a believer, but I always liked the sound of that -- and so do you, or you wouldn't do half the things I've seen.  
  
“Taking a way of killing and using it to save a world — that’s ‘life out of death’ if I’ve ever seen it. You should be . . . glad of it, rather than letting the past poison what’s in front of you.”  
  
Jack leaned his head back against the wall, and shot a sidelong glance at the Doctor, to gauge his reaction.  
  
Without warning, a flash of rage swept through the Doctor. How dare this _human_ try to tell him how he should or should not feel? Jack hadn’t even lived for a half-century and was born of a young and vigorous species that spread like wildfire through Time and space — _he_ would never have the sensation of being the last, alone, a living artifact like some dried-up, unnatural mummy, cursed to endure long past the day it should have been dust . . .  
  
The Doctor’s head snapped around to face Jack, and their gazes locked, the Doctor making no effort to mask his emotions.  
  
“Do me a favor, Captain,” he snarled. “Stop trying to make me feel better. I don’t need it, coming from _you_.”  
  
Jack’s eyes widened, startled, and his breathing picked up — a fear-and-flight response, ingrained and instinctive . . . but he didn’t run. Defiantly, he held the Doctor’s burning gaze, lifting his chin slightly and met a Time Lord’s anger with his own.  
  
Deep down, under his anger, the Doctor had to be impressed. Jack might be a former con man, with a slightly lazy, easygoing streak, but deep down he possessed a slow, stubborn courage that simply would not give up once roused. Even outclassed and shivering with effort, he refused to give any ground.  
  
_No wonder Rose gets along with him so well,_ the Doctor couldn’t help thinking, _neither one of ‘em’ll shift an inch if they think they’re right . . ._  
  
Remembering Rose and Jack dancing together -- _lovely couple_ \-- chilled the Doctor’s rage somewhat, but did nothing to lessen its intensity. No, he definitely didn’t need Jack’s sympathy, not when Jack was the wedge that would no doubt separate him from Rose one day, like and like together, and the Doctor left odd man out, and alone . . .  
  
Jack broke, and dropped his gaze. His lips compressed, and the anger drained out of his expression, leaving behind . . . Sorrow. Disappointment. Hurt, and . . . loneliness . . .?  
  
It was unexpected, to say the least, and the Doctor’s rage faltered as he realized what he was seeing. He was seeing _Jack_ \-- no cons, no ulterior motives. He compared the cocky, brash, manipulative man he’d first met with the one who stood before him. This Jack allowed real, unguarded emotions to show on his face and spoke what he felt, rather than what he thought his audience wanted to hear.  
  
Courage, indeed, and directed at bringing the Doctor in, including him -- not shutting him out. Not oblivious to his pain, but caring about it.  
  
_I’m a right self-absorbed bastard some days, aren’t I?_ the Doctor thought, finally seeing what was right in front of him, here and now.  
  
Jack, still looking away, didn’t see the change in the Doctor’s expression.  
  
“All right,” Jack said, his voice low and defeated. “Be that way. A couple more dances, for Rose, and we’ll be on our way.”  
  
He turned to go, but the Doctor caught his shoulder and stopped him. “Wait,” he said, quietly, no more anger left.  
  
Startled, Jack turned back, features tense and blank, obviously expecting some sarcastic barb or hurtful comment. The blankness dissolved into confusion as he took in the Doctor’s changed demeanor.  
  
It was the Doctor’s turn to drop his gaze momentarily, ashamed for the hurt he’d caused. Then he looked back up and began to strip off his leather coat, his movements slow and deliberate.  
  
Jack raised a questioning eyebrow, a faint gleam coming back to his eyes.  
  
The Doctor dropped his coat against the wall. “It’ll keep dry enough there,” he said, and was rewarded with Jack’s sudden, delighted grin, welcome as the first drop of rain in a desert.  
  
\--  
  
Rose was standing at the refreshments table, taking a break and chatting with one of the women from Engineering, when she heard footsteps sneaking up, not very effectively, behind her. Her conversational partner didn’t help any, flicking obvious glances past Rose at whomever it was. The Engineer was grinning rather broadly, and Rose steeled herself to act surprised. With Jack off talking to the Doctor, Rose had danced with at least half the male population of the colony, and was expecting to be starting on the second half any moment.  
  
So, the hands covering her eyes from behind really did startle her — there were only two people here tall enough to pull off that maneuver, so it had to be . . .  
  
“Jack!” she said, laughing — and then the hands dropped from her eyes to her shoulders and there was Jack, in _front_ of her and grinning like a loon.  
  
He held up his own hands to demonstrate his innocence, as a completely unexpected Northern accent spoke in her ear, “Guess again. Gotcha!”  
  
“Doctor!” Rose yelled with delight, and spun around to give him a tight hug — tighter than he’d been expecting, from the way the air huffed out of him in surprise — before grabbing his hand and dragging him in the direction of dancing before he could change his mind.  
  
Jack’s laughter followed them all the way.  
  
\--  
  
Considerably later, having said their farewells, the three of them were in the control room. The Doctor was stabilizing the TARDIS in a holding pattern within the Vortex, while Rose and Jack were engaged in a heavy post-dance analysis session.  
  
“Surprised we could pry you away from your girlfriend in Atmospheric Sciences,” Rose was teasing.  
  
“What, S'rella? Yeah, she was sweet,” Jack said, reminiscently. “She said she liked my teeth — she kept telling me jokes so she could try counting them when I laughed.” He grinned in memory, rubbing a towel through his still-damp hair. “What about Geren from Command? He thought you were plenty cute. Told me he liked _big_ women.”  
  
Jack’s hand gestures left no doubt as to what portions of anatomy were included in that description. Given that Odevraki women tended to be on the slender side, Rose’s proportions had been quite impressive in comparison.  
  
“Watch it!” Rose said, twirling her damp towel into a rope and threatening to snap Jack with it — unconvincingly, since she was grinning as broadly as he was.  
  
“And I notice the colony Commander took a shine to the Doctor here,” Jack continued. “She danced with you, what, five times?” he asked with a sly grin at the Time Lord.  
  
“We were talkin’ some more about her work,” the Doctor replied, rather primly, as he continued to work controls. “Lovely woman, even if I do think she’s bein’ a little too conservative about deployin’ her bromeliads . . .”  
  
“ _What?!_ " Rose asked, laughing.  
  
“Terraforming gobbledegook,” Jack translated for her.  
  
Rose shook her head, and then a thought struck her. “Y’know, with everything else going on, I never even caught the name of the planet . . .”  
  
“Neh’ita’a’iven,” the Doctor told her, absently.  
  
It took Rose three tries, with Jack coaching her on the glottal stops, to get it right.  
  
“What a mouthful,” she said, giggling. “I used to think just ‘Earth’ was boring, but now I dunno — at least it’s simple . . .”  
  
“Part of the problem is, the TARDIS doesn’t translate proper names, most of the time,” Jack said. “Meanings are usually simpler.”  
  
“What does . . . Neh’ita’a’iven mean, then?” Rose asked, curious. “D’you know?”  
  
“Actually I do. I worked with some Odevraki back in the Patrol, learned some of the language. The easy translation is ‘Spring,” as in ‘Springtime,’ but it’s more literally something like ‘Greening.’” His gaze slid sideways towards the Doctor. “If you want to be poetic, it can also mean something like ‘Redemption.’”  
  
“Oh, I like that!” Rose said, thoughtfully, squeezing a little more water out of her hair with her towel. “That’s pretty — an’ it makes sense, the way they’re turning a dead planet into a place to live . . .”  
  
“Yeah, I think it’s pretty appropriate, myself,” Jack said, still looking sidelong at the Doctor.  
  
The Doctor glanced up momentarily, and raised an eyebrow in Jack’s direction. Jack smirked slightly, and the Doctor snorted, going back to the controls. Jack grinned.  
  
“So,” the Doctor asked nobody particular, throwing a last switch and snagging his own damp towel from one of the TARDIS's coralline struts. “We got anything left to eat? Easy to work up an appetite, what with all that dancin.’”  



End file.
